I looked up at him.
If a wolf could smile, then I thought it would look like he did right then.
I said, “I have a choice, don’t I?”
He cocked his head at me.
I said, “To go with you.”
He looked back behind him, toward the woods. There was movement there now. In the trees all around us I could hear the sounds of other wolves. Yipping. Barking. Singing. Howling. There were dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.
They called to me. They sang, we’re here we’re ready when you are pack and son and brother and love we’re ready and we can wait for as long as you need.
Thomas turned toward me.
I said, “Or I could go back.”
He huffed again.
I said, “My daddy told me I was gonna get shit. Before he left. Did you know that?”
He whined low in his throat.
“He told me that. He said I was just a dumb ol’ Ox who was gonna get shit all my life. But he was wrong.”
The wolves in the forest howled.
“He was wrong,” I said. “Because Joe found me. And brought me to you. You gave me purpose. You gave me a home. A pack. A family.”
The wolf’s eyes were wet and bright.
“You are my father,” I said, though my voice broke. “In everything but blood.”
And I felt it then. The bond. The thread that stretched between us, even in death. It wasn’t as strong as it had been, and it probably would never be while I still lived, but it was there.
And there was a whisper along it.
The quietest of voices.
It said, Take care of them for me, my son.
Thomas Bennett leaned forward and pressed his nose to my forehead.
And I said, “Oh.”
I OPENED my eyes.
I was in a darkened room.
There was heat on all sides of me.
I felt safe and warm.
And more. Because there was more.
There were soft thumps overlapping in the room.
Some were in time with each other.